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How is it we discover too late the innovators to whom we owe a debt? The first picture frame I ever bought was a sectional one picked up at Art Brown on 46th Street; it was the only thing I could afford back in my early Manhattan years. I still own it; to its designer Bob Kulicke,…

Stay out of the ocean Stay out of the sun Stay in perfect shape And be number one We’ve got brilliant excuses For having no fun So just blow out the candles Carly Simon, Happy Birthday July 21st is my birthday, a ripe…

Last week’s trip to San Francisco is written on my body. My back aches, which means I’m either out of shape, or getting too old to blithely scale the city’s steep hills. My partner J and I took more trains and trolleys than in past trips; hot baths at day’s end were warranted, a balm…

Seeing Some Men at New York’s Second Stage Theater reminded me of an old Gil Scott-Heron lyric, one warning the establishment that “the revolution will not be televised.” Playwright Terrence McNally’s panoramic look at the lives of American gay men over the span of 80 years shows “a people’s” collective journey trod in the…

“God, talking to you is like trying to sew a button on cottage cheese!” Mitchell, The Little Dog Laughed “Love is Companyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy! ensemble, Company Reports of its eminent demise are exaggerated—again. These words echoed as I left the Barrymore Theater after catching…

Unlike Spain, France or China, there seems to be no national physical “type” in Belgium. Notions of Hercule Poirot vanish when presented with varietal faces that range from pale Flemish damsels to the deep dark shades of Congo ancestry. Of course, the presence of tourists confuse the whole mess, turning the tiny city of Brussels…